


we could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one (but this is the one that happened)

by majesdane



Category: Sucker Punch (2011)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in all three realities. | <i>She is so desperate to cling to this new life of hers, this freedom. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	we could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one (but this is the one that happened)

i do not know how it ends. just that i miss you, right before it does.

\-- _iwrotethisforyou_

 

 

 

It might end like this:

When Rocket shows up at the house, almost a whole month later, with a broken arm but otherwise still very much alive, Sweet Pea punches her in the face and doesn't talk to her for a week. That night, Amber cautiously asks Sweet Pea if she'd like her uniform cleaned; it's speckled with a fine spray of blood from the punch. Rocket has a split lip for four days; she slips around Sweet Pea, silent and cautious. Eyes her warily.

Sweet Pea isn't entirely sure if she's actually mad at Rocket or if she's just too overwhelmed with happiness that Rocket is _back_. That she is _alive_. When she'd left Rocket on the train, when her eyes met Rocket's for the last time -- and there was so much to them; regret and hope and sadness and resignation -- it had felt like her heart had been ripped right out of her chest.

Rocket's return feels strange, like the missing piece of Sweet Pea has been glued back into place. Fixed, but not entirely so. She is no longer whole, she feels; she can feel herself slowly unraveling, cracking, breaking apart. For days after the incident on Titan, she'd laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had never known a sadness so vast and deep as the loss of a sister. It felt like a hole that she'd never be able to climb out of.

But then Babydoll had lain down beside her, the bed dipping and creaking with her weight. She'd kissed the tears away from Sweet Pea's cheeks and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. It was the first night she slept soundly, not dreaming of chasing after Rocket, always just out of reach, and when she'd awoken, Babydoll had been by the window, the morning sun rising behind her, glowing around her head like a halo.

A guardian angel, Sweet Pea had thought, and risen out of bed then and gone to kiss her.

I know how it is, Babydoll murmured, put her cheek against Sweet Pea's, eyelashes fluttering against Sweet Pea's skin like butterflies. You don't have to be alone.

Do you wish I hadn't come back? Rocket asks one night, very, very quietly, curling up in bed against Sweet Pea, her breath warm against Sweet Pea's shoulder.

Sweet Pea doesn't know how to answer a question like that. She reaches for Rocket's hand, threading their fingers together. Rocket's palm is warm and calloused. Comforting. It's been so long, Sweet Pea thinks, since she has held her sister's hand. They are still young, the last time, lying in the grass and looking at clouds. That's before Sweet Pea grew up, before Rocket ran off to join the Organization, before they felt the sting of blades and bullets. Before the end of the world: Rocket, standing on a train, Sweet Pea watching and so unable to help.

Before Sweet Pea knows loss. Before everything changes.

Nothing will ever be the same, she says. She thinks of Babydoll as she says it; Babydoll, standing in the sun, the light in her eyes. Babydoll, with her soft hands cupping Sweet Pea's face. Babydoll, with her hair loose and down, falling around her shoulders like liquid gold. Babydoll with her lips against Sweet Pea's, saying _I'm here, I'm here, I understand_. Sweet Pea had kissed the slope of Babydoll's neck, the curve of her jaw. Sweet Pea'd wrapped her fingers around Babydoll's kerchief, felt the rough, worn fabric against her skin.

She isn't sure what to tell Rocket, about herself and Babydoll. And she thinks -- she can't help it, it's a thought almost entirely against her will -- that things would be so much easier if Rocket hadn't come back at all. She loves her sister, she does, and she knows that she's happy that Rocket is still alive. But everything is so complicated now, just like everything has always been where Rocket was concerned, and Sweet Pea misses the time when Rocket was gone. The sadness was awful, but at least she knew where things stood.

Blondie hugs Rocket daily, tells her how happy she is that Rocket is back. Tells Rocket that she's sorry. Blondie says sorry all the time now. Everyone knows that it isn't her fault, what happened -- or almost happened, really -- to Rocket, but Blondie's always blamed herself for the incident. Perhaps, Sweet Pea thinks, it's the only thing Blondie's genuinely regretted; she lets Blondie say her apologies, doesn't say a word.

Amber catches Sweet Pea's eye, shakes her head. Moves across the room to press a kiss to Blondie's cheek, wrap an arm around her shoulders.

Oh, how dearly Sweet Pea wishes she could do the same with Babydoll, sitting only two feet away. She reaches her hand out, tentatively, stretches her fingers until she can lightly brush them against Babydoll's wrist. Sweet Pea has never been much for romance and sentimentality, but Babydoll changes her in ways she does not quite understand.

(She catches Rocket watching them in their slight, silent exchange. But she can't bring herself to pull her hand away. Not even for her sister. Not even after everything that's happened.)

Rocket asks the questions that Sweet Pea can't answer. Do you love her?

I'm sorry, Sweet Pea says; it's her turn to apologize.

Don't. Rocket shakes her head, takes Sweet Pea's hands in her own, runs her thumbs across Sweet Pea's knuckles. I get it. There is no reason you can't be happy.

I'm glad you're back, Sweet Pea says, though she's not sure if she means it. Not entirely.

Rocket smiles.

I missed you, Sweet Pea says next, and _now_ the words stick in her throat and her eyes burn with tears and she has to take a step back, falling against the wall. She pulls Rocket with her and they crumple to the floor and Rocket kisses Sweet Pea's temple through her hair, whispers that everything is going to be okay.

You're so _stupid_ , Rocket, Sweet Pea tells her, crying, pushing roughly at Rocket's shoulders. You could have died. I _thought_ you _died_. Why would you ever do -- don't you _ever_ leave me like that again, oh, you're such an idiot, I thought that was the last time I'd ever see you. _You_ \--

I told you not to get mad about it, Rocket smiles, catches Sweet Pea's hands, curled into fists. Kisses her fingers until they're loose and flexing and knotting into the front of Rocket's uniform, Sweet Pea pulling her in for a tight embrace. I'm here now, she says.

I won't leave again.

 

;;

 

Or, perhaps, it ends this way:

She can feel the weight of the key in her hand as she runs, Babydoll's voice clear and insistent in her head: don't look back.

She finds herself a farmhouse, the laundry left out to dry all day, stiff and wrinkled. She steals a dress from the clothesline, ducks away before anyone can come out of the house and notice her. She trades her brothel clothes for the dress, pulling it over her head and letting it settle down over her body. It has been so long since she's been able to dress like this, like she's just a _girl_. Simple.

Of course, she doesn't have any money on her, so she's left standing at the bus station staring forlornly at the bus routes and schedules. A man, probably ten years her senior, gives her twenty dollars half an hour later; that, Sweet Pea decides, ducking into the bathroom and wiping her hand on a paper towel, is the real end to her old life. It's more than enough money, and she buys herself a Coke while she sits and awaits for the bus to arrive, her hands wrapped tightly around the cool, perspiring glass, half afraid to let go.

Sweet Pea is so desperate to cling to this new life of hers, this freedom.

On the bus, she sleeps.

She dreams of Rocket, smiling; they are children, in her dream, young and playful and so unaware of all the possibility that lies before them. They lie on the grass in the backyard and hold hands and point up at the clouds that float past. It is summer; their mother is in the kitchen, baking an apple pie, and Sweet Pea can smell it from out in the yard. She is twelve years old; Rocket is nine. In seven years, she will run away from home and Sweet Pea will follow because that is what older sisters do: they play protector. And Rocket needs an awful lot of protecting.

But they are young, still, in the dream, and Sweet Pea grins and untangles her hand from Rocket's and tickles Rocket until Rocket is crying out _uncle!_ and begging for Sweet Pea to stop, please, she can't breathe. And then as soon as Sweet Pea lets up, Rocket is on her, pouncing like a kitten and pinning Sweet Pea's wrists to the ground, laughing triumphantly.

Hey, a boy says, next to her. His eyes are a cold blue-gray, like rocks underneath water. Sweet Pea starts at the sound of his voice, blinking rapidly, slowly drifting back to reality. This is your stop coming up, isn't it? he asks, pointing at his own ticket. The driver just said we'll be there in five minutes.

Oh, Sweet Pea says, suddenly shy, feeling her face grow hot. He is only just a boy, so much younger than Sweet Pea, but he is part of a new -- old? -- world that Sweet Pea still has yet to learn -- remember? -- so much about. She mumbles a thanks and ducks her head away, slipping down further in her seat.

Her cheeks are wet; she touches her fingers to her cheeks, wipes away her tears. She licks her lips and tastes salt in her mouth. The boy didn't say anything about her crying in her sleep; he was probably embarrassed for her -- or by her, maybe, though there isn't much difference -- and thought it best not to say anything.

Rocket says that she loves you, she tells her mother. She had lingered on the front porch for so long after coming home, just taking in the sight of a house that she'd dreamed about returning to for so long. It wasn't until Sweet Pea's father had come around from the back, red and sweating from cutting the grass, that she'd finally let anyone know that she was home. _Home_. How strange a word it was -- but it wasn't really _home_ was it, not any longer, not with Rocket gone.

She won't be back, she says to her mother, watches her grasp the front of her blouse and crumple to the ground, feeling as though she is entirely removed from the scene. She is there in body, but not in spirit; she sinks down to the ground as well, puts her face in her hands, thinks about running through the rain with Rocket, only a month before they became part of Blue's business.

The raindrops are warm and wet against her skin.

Oh, dear, look at us, Rocket says, but she's not sad or upset at all, just laughing with outrageous happiness, as if there is nothing better than this. And there isn't, Rocket says, and the way she sways, Sweet Pea thinks she might be a bit drunk. I have you and we have our freedom -- is there anything sweeter than that?

After a time, Babydoll comes around. She brings Rocket's things with her.

The High Roller gave me freedom, she explains to Sweet Pea, who presses her against her bedroom door, kissing her roughly, before collapsing onto her bed and crying until she can't breathe. All of things they fought for, she thinks, they all went to waste. If only they had known, how things would turn out -- she hadn't wanted for Rocket to be unhappy, but she'd always felt as though it was better to be unhappy and _live_ , rather than the other way around.

What do we do now, Sweet Pea asks, helpless all over again. Where do we go from here?

It is Babydoll, always, who puts Sweet Pea back together again when she falls apart. We must do what we can, she tells Sweet Pea, and it's so unhelpful, but Sweet Pea clings to the front of Babydoll's dress anyway, moves into kiss Babydoll until their lips are bruised.

Finally, she stands, moves towards her dresser. Sorts through the things of Rocket's that Babydoll brought back with her. There is a little black and white photo of Sweet Pea and Rocket together, at the beach, standing at the edge of the water and shielding their eyes from the sun. The photo is tinted yellow with age and worn around the edges, but the moment comes rushing back to Sweet Pea as if it were only taken moments ago.

Their names are written in the back in clumsy, sloping letters. Rocket's handwriting from when she was a little girl.

She wants to cry, still, but she's too tired. Too worn out. Her eyes are raw and she can feel a headache coming on.

It's okay, Babydoll says, comes up behind Sweet Pea, wraps her arms around Sweet Pea's waist and embraces her tightly. Sweet Pea looks up, looks at them together in the mirror, tucks the photo of herself and Rocket into the mirror's frame.

It's okay, Babydoll says again. We'll be okay.

 

;;

 

But really, it ends with:

Sweet Pea pulling the dress over her head -- white, she thinks, rebirth -- and stuffing her asylum uniform into the bottom of the trash can in the train station bathroom. She wipes the tears from her eyes, washes her face in the sink. Combs her hair until it looks presentable, pulls it up and back into a tight ponytail. Looks at her face in the mirror and thinks that she could be anyone right now. Could be any girl.

She thinks of the look Babydoll's face, the way in which she smiled sadly and pushed Sweet Pea towards the gate, waiting and watching for Sweet Pea to be free. Freedom, oh, the thing she'd wished for for so very long. It felt wrong, somehow, being free now. Here there was no Blondie, with her anger and sadness or Amber, with her delusions. Here there was no Rocket, a girl made for some other time, tied down to this wrong world, and dancing along the edge of madness, because of it.

Here there is no Babydoll, guardian angel, the girl who played trickster and showed them how to fight. Sweet Pea can still feel her now, laughing and kissing her, all sweet, lazy kisses, the knowledge of being halfway home -- the lighter! oh, the magic ways in which Babydoll made them all brave -- enough to make Sweet Pea feel drunk with hope. She can still feel Babydoll's hand in hers, that one last time, as Babydoll pressed the key into her hand and said her goodbye.

You have to live for all of us now, she'd said, and the glistening in her eyes matched the sting in Sweet Pea's. And then, You'll be fine.

Like it was that simple, really, falling back into the world. Trying to be normal again.

She doesn't cry, sitting in the back of the bus, even though she wants too. She's too tired and besides, it will bring about nothing good. People will stare and point and whisper and at the next stop maybe this time she won't be so lucky, maybe she'll be dragged back to Lennox, never able to see the sunrise again. Coming home feels so strange, as if it isn't a place she really belongs, even though before -- there is so much _before_ , a whole other lifetime -- Lennox, she had never known any other place but this.

Her parents kiss her, embrace her, and still Sweet Pea feels wrong, like she's intruding somehow. She doesn't know how long she's been away; in the asylum, there is no _time_ , there is always _now_ , and the past and present stretching out endlessly in both directions. Five days, she thinks.

(Or maybe it is weeks, months. Or years. She isn't certain.)

It isn't too long before Rocket is home as well and finally, Sweet Pea feels some sort of sense belonging return to her once again. Rocket curls up next to her in bed and kisses Sweet Pea's shoulder and says, Nothing is the same, as though she expected that maybe it would be.

What about _her_ , Sweet Pea says, turning, desperate.

She knows without knowing, what Rocket will say, knows that it's pointless and painful to ask, but she does it anyway. She turns in her sister's arms and asks what happened to Babydoll, because she needs to hear the words being spoken out loud before she can admit it to herself. Until she can accept it as truth, cold and hard and absolute. She asks and waits for an answer, already knowing what it will be.

Rocket shakes her head, bites her lip. Sweet Pea can see her slowly trying to sort out the words in her mind. She's in paradise, Rocket says, finally, doesn't meet Sweet Pea's eyes. She's not -- she won't ever be the same person that she was before. She's gone.

And Sweet Pea _does_ cry now, the first time since she's escaped from Lennox; she bows her head and cries and feels a little ashamed that Rocket is watching her; she was never a good sister, she is weak and unfaithful, so willing to leave Rocket behind for an abstract idea like freedom. She knows she should be happy that Rocket is free too, that Rocket is here with her now, like she should be, but that part of her is so small. More than anything she wishes that Babydoll was free, and it is that sadness that eats away at her, wearing her down.

I'm sorry, she tells Rocket.

Shh, don't, Rocket says, kisses away her tears. In the end, it was what she wanted. Her life was so sad and well, you can either hold on or let go.

Sweet Pea nods, reaches forward and brushes the bangs -- longer than Sweet Pea remembers them -- out of Rocket's eyes. Thinks about Babydoll's eyes meeting hers, across the theatre, the look that she'd given Sweet Pea, so indecipherable. They were simply two sides of the same coin, and when they met, they were like a flash, a spark, brilliant and bright but not strong enough to last. Just enough for a moment's happiness.

I know, I know, Rocket says, days later, sitting on the edge of Sweet Pea's bed, while raindrops splash sharply against the windows. I know how it is.

I really did love her, Sweet Pea says, picks at a loose thread in her comforter. She is that loose thread, being pulled until she is no longer whole, just a bunch up pieces of things all sewn up together. She is amazed at how quickly she can come undone.

Rocket puts her hand on top of Sweet Pea's, stilling it. Didn't we all?

Sweet Pea closes her eyes, lies back, lets herself dream of another world where they are happy, whole.


End file.
